


tuesday again? no problem.

by ironmermaidens



Category: Supernatural, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Frisk, Crossover, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Selectively Mute Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmermaidens/pseuds/ironmermaidens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dies, the Trickster resets, and Sam isn't the only one who remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. your punchline could use some work

**Author's Note:**

> i tried.jpg

It was Tuesday. It had been Tuesday a hundred times in a row. Give or take a few Tuesdays. Sam hadn’t started keeping track immediately, and the numbers quickly got away from him. He had more pressing concerns at the time. Dean was dying, and he hadn’t known how to make it stop. It seemed like every time he thwarted one death, something new would sneak up to pick his brother off. Then he’d wake up in their dingy motel room, _Heat of the Moment_ playing through the alarm clock speakers and Dean lip syncing along as if he hadn’t just been trampled to death by a stampeding herd of escaped petting zoo animals, or electrocuted by a freak lightning strike on a sunny day, or any other number of absurd ways he had met his end.

He had a lead now, though. A strawberry syrup flavored lead, with a side of just desserts. A trickster. It had to be a trickster. The cards added up, now that they were all in his hand. And with this new Tuesday morning, he knew exactly what to bring with him to the diner. He stood and stalked the man who sat at the counter out the door when he left, Dean’s hushed protests following him, and his reluctant footsteps following that. Sam hadn’t bothered checking what kind of syrup the man used this time. It didn’t matter. This was ending today.

Sam had the man pinned to a wrought iron fence the minute he turned down the lesser worn street, right hand digging bruises into the man’s shoulder and left holding a stake to his throat. “I know who you are. Or should I say _what._ ”

The man pleaded for his life, but Sam couldn’t quite hear it over the rush of anger pounding against his temples. The nervous _Sammy…?_ from Dean barely registered in his brain. All he could hear was _You killed my brother. Over and over and over._

“It took me a helluva long time, but I got it.”

This would be justice. For Dexter Hassleback, and Dean, and for himself.

“It’s your MO that gave you away. Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts- your kind loves that, don’t they?”

He wanted to drive the stake into the man’s neck right now, but a part of him doubted his own theory. The worry in Dean’s tone when he began suggesting Sam put the stake down only added to his doubts, but he blocked Dean’s voice out and continued.

“No! There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops—in fact you'd pretty much have to be a god. You'd have to be a Trickster.”

The man began defending himself, spouting off his alias, his cover, wife and two kids, unremarkable white collar job, all lies. Sam snarled.

“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are! We've killed one of your kind before!”

And the man changed in that moment, morphing from a graying fifty-something year old man into the shape of a very familiar god.

“Actually, bucko,” his words sounded so smug, and the shock Sam felt mixed seamlessly into his rage when the Trickster said, “You didn’t.”

He interrogated the Trickster, but he knew why the god is doing it. Everything’s a big joke for them. A cosmic prank. And Sam’s torment is the punchline.

“So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?”

The Trickster quirked a brow at him. “One, yes, it is fun. And two? This is _so_ not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?”

Sam sucked in a breath, breathed out “you son of a bitch,” but the words were lost on the chuckle of an unfamiliar voice behind him. Dean turned, staring wide eyed, and the Trickster leaned around Sam as well, his own surprise evident as the confident smirk slid off his face.

Sam turned, hands still firmly holding the Trickster in place, to see who the newcomer was. He was greeted by the sight of a short, stocky skeleton of all things, wearing a blue hoodie, pink slippers, and a wide grin. His eye sockets were closed and his stance was casual, hands planted in his hoodie pockets as if he wasn’t now in the middle of a standoff with two hunters and a trickster god. Beside him was a small child in a striped sweater, a look of worry and anguish on their face. Sam didn’t think this freak show could get any weirder, and yet...

“maybe you had to be there to get it,” the skeleton drawled, low and deep. “but your punchline could use some serious work, pal.”

 

\---------

 

It was Tuesday. It had been Tuesday one hundred and forty-three times in a row. That was the exact number of Tuesdays. Sans knew this because he started counting reflexively whenever a new reset occurred, kept a tally going in his journal. He knew the kid wasn’t the one behind it, or at least they didn’t want him to think they were the one behind it. They approached him after the twentieth reset, concern written all over their face. Frisk may have abused their power in the past, but they had promised him no more resets. Call him crazy, but he trusted their word.

He told them not to worry about it, the large grin plastered on his face as reassuring as a dead man’s smile can be. Whatever it was, it would sort itself out, eventually. They just had to wait and see.

When fifteen more resets had passed, his grin was a little less easy, and Frisk a little less pacified by it. At fifty total resets, Frisk approached him again, and said they had to do something. They couldn’t sit around with their thumbs up their butts anymore. Said the words, not signed them. He was torn between scolding them for their language and asking where they’d even learned that phrase, but instead of doing either, he agreed. It was hard to say no when they spoke. He knew how difficult it was for them.

He took the kid’s hand and they walked out the front door, and on the other side was Snowdin, right outside his workshop. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, winking at Frisk, who furrow their brow at the empty space they had just walked out of, before going inside.

“alright,” he said, standing in the middle of the workshop, surveying the culmination of his research and life’s work. “my machines aren’t sophisticated enough to pinpoint the origin of a reset, but maybe that’s something we can fix.”

He turned to Frisk, who gave him a thumbs up, and when he blinked, he was back in his home above ground. Welp. At least any progress made on the machines would be saved over multiple resets. But still. This was going to be a long, _long_ process. Frisk arrived back at his doorstep about ten minutes later, and they were back in Snowdin, back in the workshop.

Progress was slow going between the resets and the many rounds of rock-paper-scissors it took to determine who would be sticking their hands into delicate machinery to make adjustments and risk losing fingers. After half the disassembly has been completed, Frisk gave him an exasperated look, one that asked why he kept wasting time like this. The look turned dubious at Sans’s explanation.

“you’re young and in good health. your fingers will have plenty time to grow back if anything happens to them.”

 _‘That’s not how humans work,_ ’ Frisk signed to him. Sans tilted his head, and they clarified. ‘ _You’re thinking of lizards._ ’

“what, they’re not the same thing?” He said with a shit-eating grin.

‘ _I think I’m more like you than I am like Alphys,_ ’ They said, scowling at his levity, and he chuckled.

“given my proclivity for science, you might want to rethink that statement.”

‘ _I meant biologically,’_ They rolled their eyes, then after a moment added, ‘ _What does that word mean?_ ’

“proclivity?” He asked, and they nodded in confirmation. “means i find the topic real fascinating. it’s intriguing to me. engrossing. captivating. interesting.”

Their mouth formed an “O” shape in understanding. Sans grinned a little wider and ruffled Frisk’s hair, and was rewarded with a small, joyous giggle. He blinked. That was a first. That was a sound usually reserved for the likes of Toriel and Papyrus. Never him. Not with what he knew about the resets. With what he knew about Frisk. They smiled at him, and he was snapped from his thoughts before they could turn any darker. He smiled back and said, “don’t worry about the machines, kid. i’ll take care of it.”

And so his finger bones were the only ones at risk from that point forward, working to upgrade his machines while Frisk flitted through his documents and books, ‘hmm’ing and ‘ooh’ing at odd intervals, or making frustrated groans when the words became too complex. So he started bringing along some of his physics books for Frisk to read, the junior ones he’d bought during Papyrus’s brief science phase. They liked those ones much more than the complicated documents that had more science jargon than plain English in them.

Even that started to lose their interest when the resets began building up, though. They brought their 3DS, but by the eightieth reset had beaten all their story driven games. Before they had even reached their ninetieth reset, the novelty of Mr. Resetti believing that they were purposefully resetting their game wore off.

Sans didn’t get out of bed at the big one-zero-zero. He didn’t want to get out of bed. He wanted to give up. He felt like he was getting nowhere, and even Frisk’s boundless optimism seemed to be waning as the resets went on. It was already in his nature to just let things happen. He wanted to just let things happen. Let this problem fix itself. Why couldn’t Frisk just let this problem fix itself? Sans already believed them when they said they weren’t the one doing it. What more did they need?

About twenty minutes after Sans would have normally picked Frisk up from Toriel’s house, there was a knocking downstairs. He ignored it.

It came again. He ignored it again. Then the doorbell rang, and he ignored that too. The front door creaked open and soft, familiar footsteps padded inside and up the stairs. They stopped outside his door.

‘ _Shave and a haircut,_ ’ the knuckles rapping against his bedroom door said.

‘ _Two bits,_ ’ he replied halfheartedly against his bedside table.

The doorknob rattled, but it was locked, like usual. Another, more urgent knock came against his door, and it wasn’t to any tunes this time. He sighed. The kid sure was persistent. He dragged himself out of bed, shuffled barefoot to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open to let Frisk in. Their face was twisted between concern and annoyance, and he chuckled despite himself. Their expression settled on annoyance at that. “sorry, kid. had a rough morning.”

The concern was back, and this time it came with its good friend, confusion.

“it’s been fifty resets since we started working on this, you know,” He said, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him. “i just need a, uh. a break. a man gets tired, working on the same project fifty tuesdays in a row. that’s fair, ain’t it?”

They didn’t look completely convinced, but nodded anyway. He started walking towards the stairs, and Frisk followed. “hey, that makes one hundred total,” he continued. “we should do something to celebrate. celebrate surviving this long without going postal, that is.”

They stopped in their tracks, brows furrowed. They looked hurt, betrayed. It took him a second to realize why, and his grin almost dropped right off his face when he did. “not like that. i didn’t mean it like that.”

They kept staring, hurt in their eyes, and he felt sweat form on his brow. God. It was amazing how easily he could stick his entire foot in his mouth when he had all those teeth in the way. “i’m not a very motivated skeleton by nature. you know that. all this hard work is making me want to do something reckless and stupid. like get a tattoo. you know how many people regret getting tattoos? or maybe a piercing. i’d look real good with an eyebrow piercing, don’t you think?”

They finally cracked a smile at him, but he could tell the damage was already done. He gave them his realest fake grin in return and made his way downstairs, went straight for the kitchen. Pulled a bottle out of the cupboard, a real fancy bottle of champagne he had bought shortly after Frisk had promised him no more resets. He never opened it. Afraid of celebrating something that might turn up false. He began peeling the foil away from the bottle’s neck.

“we should celebrate in style. you’ve never drank before, right?” He turned to look at them and they quirked a brow at him, saying without words or signs _I’m nine._

“heh, of course you haven’t. let’s keep it that way, huh?” He dug through the kitchen drawers until his phalanges curled around a corkscrew, and set to work. “there’s juice in the fridge if you want to pretend, though.”

It turned out the juice he was thinking of was actually tomato sauce, so Frisk opted to have water out of the faucet instead. He poured a little champagne into his glass and stared at the bubbling, golden liquid for a moment. Then he poured more, until he’d filled the glass almost to its brim. He picked it up and turned to Frisk, who sat at the table with a plastic, polka-dotted cup in both hands, and raised his own in a toast. Frisk hesitantly raised their cup as well, then took a sip from it while he turned his own bottoms up. Oh yeah. He was definitely feeling reckless and stupid right now.

His cup was empty by the time he finished that thought. He refilled it, drank another half before he finally stopped to catch his breath. He flopped down on the chair next to Frisk, feeling a buzz coming on already. They continued to sip their water, watching him with sharp eyes, and he grinned back. “everything in moderation, right?”

They narrowed their eyes, clearly unamused, and he ruffled their hair in response. He almost frowned when it earned him neither a cute giggle nor a huff of feigned annoyance. They really were upset with him. Couldn’t just smooth this over with a few jokes and a lifetime of topic avoidance. He set his cup down on the table and sighed. Now was not the time to let his emotions get the best of him.

“i’m sorry about what i said earlier. about losing it.” He said. Their expression soften a bit and they tilted their head, waiting for him to continue. He looked down at his lap. “i really didn’t mean it like that. won’t happen again. it’s just… there’s been a hundred resets and so little progress. it’s frustrating, and i’m getting real sick of Tuesday-”

“I forgive you,” They said, and he paused, looking up again, catching a small smile from the kid. They spoke to him. Again. Maybe Tuesdays weren’t so bad after all. He smiled back.

“heh. if you promise not to tell your mom, you can try a sip,” He said, holding the glass of champagne out to them. Frisk looked warily contemplative for a second before taking the glass, giving it a tentative sniff, then raised it to their lips. As soon as the taste hit their tongue, they wrinkled their nose and pushed the glass away. Sans laughed. “it’s pungent, isn’t it?”

“It’s _gross!_ ” They said.

“really gross,” Sans agreed.

When the next reset hit, Sans had the traces of a buzz in the back of his skull, and a genuine smile on his face.

Progress started to move faster after that. Sans’s mood was considerably higher, and Frisk insisted they help with assembly. It took thirty more resets to have everything ready, but the work didn’t feel so overwhelming with two sets of hands.

Monitoring the results was even more painfully boring than the initial disassembly and reassembly had been. There was a lot of sitting involved, which normally would have delighted Sans, but the paying attention part was a drag. By one hundred and thirty five resets they had narrowed their search down to the east coast of the United States. At one hundred and forty resets, they knew they were looking in Florida.

One hundred and forty-one: they narrowed the results down to southern Florida.

One hundred and forty-two: they narrowed the results down to Broward county.

One hundred and forty-three: they narrowed the results down to an exact location.

Sans leapt from his seat with uncharacteristic urgency. “it’s show time, kid.”

Sans didn’t know what he was expecting at the small, Broward county town, but somehow it was surprising to him that everything seemed in perfect order. Maybe it was just his experience with Frisk coloring his judgment, but he thought more murder and mayhem might be present with the frequency at which this series of resets was occurring.

“should we split up, or stick together?” He asked, turning to Frisk and see what they thought. They frowned at the suggestion and took his hand. Stick together it was.

The two meandered along main street, looking for something, anything that seemed out of the ordinary that might point their anomaly out to them. Everything seemed… so average. So normal. Sans wondered if perhaps his results had been inaccurate.

He stopped when he felt a tugging on his hand, turned to see Frisk stopped in front of a diner, peeking in the window at the menu. He chuckled. “what, you forget breakfast?”

He moved next to them, looking in as well. Everything looked as ordinary as the streets did. A quick sweep of the room revealed nothing that seemed particularly relevant, and his interest moved to the menu instead.

“pig in a poke, huh? not sure what that even is. seriously kid, are you hungry? we can eat if you want. i’m sure the anomaly isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” He said, but Frisk didn’t have a chance to respond before a man in a decent suit came out. Their attention shifted from the interior of the diner to the door, where another man emerged, dressed like some kind of hunter and looking for all the world like he was planning murder. Another man dressed in similar attire to the second pushed the door ajar before it had even finished closing, confusion gracing his features.

“Sammy, hey! Wait up!” He shouted after the other as he jogged past Sans and Frisk. Frisk turned to Sans, pointing after the trio of diner patrons intently.

“follow them?” Sans asked incredulously, but Frisk’s nod was vehement. It wasn’t as if he had a better lead himself and if they were wrong they would just have to look someplace else during the next reset, so with a shrug he turned and followed the three men down a less traveled side street.

The scene that greeted them made Sans rethink his skepticism immediately. The second man, Sam, had the first pinned against a fence with a stake against his throat, the third looking alarmed as he played mediator in the confrontation. “Planning murder” was apparently an even more apt description of Sam’s expression than he realized.

Frisk grabbed his hand again, holding tight as the confrontation went along. The first man turned out to be a Trickster, something powerful enough to do what Frisk only could with the combined determination of two red human souls. Wasn’t that just peachy? Sans was regretting letting Frisk talk him into this plan more and more. What was he going to do against something that could just drop him into a black hole if he pissed it off enough?

He took a step back, Frisk’s grip tightening on his own phalanges the only thing keeping him from turning and high tailing it out of there. At least, the only thing until Sam spoke again.

“So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?”

He could hear something smug in the Trickster’s tone that made his magic boil. “One, yes, it is fun. And two? This is _so_ not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?”

Sans knew Sam was responding to that barb in some way, but he couldn’t quite hear the words for himself over his own involuntary laughter. In an instant his mind had been changed, and his fear transformed into bubbling rage. He didn’t care what the Trickster might do to him anymore. What was it about people with the ability to bend time to their will and being dirty brother killers?

His finger bones creaked at Frisk’s grip. Three sets of eyes were now staring right at them in shock, and he realized his laughter had been loud enough to draw their attention. He gave a crooked grin, pulled his hand out of Frisk’s grip and shoved it into his pocket, looking as nonchalant as possible.

“heh. maybe you had to be there to get it. but your punchline could use some serious work, pal.”


	2. there's a lesson in all this

For a good minute, no one reacted. Sam’s grip on the Trickster was loosening rapidly, but he remained stock still in place against the fence, staring dumbfounded at the skeleton and the child standing across from them. Dean looked between them, unsure of how much they were in on that he wasn’t privy too.

The Trickster sputtered a response. “You- you’re just a monster. How did you get here?”

“like we’d let a little thing like a time loop stop us, right kid?” He said, and the child, who still looked as if they were in bitter pain, gave a slight nod in agreement.

“that’s very rude, by the way. what you’ve been doing.” The skeleton said. It was a mild response said with a wide grin still firmly in place, but it somehow sounded like a threat when he said it. “this time loop business has really been putting a damper on my future plans. we were gonna see a movie this friday, weren’t we?”

He turned to the child, who stared back, unamused.

“and come to find out, this is all so you can torture this poor kid by killing his brother? not cool.”

The Trickster was silent for a moment before barking out a harsh laugh. Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to the Trickster just in time to feel a force beyond what a regular human was capable of shove him into the pavement a few yards away from where he previously stood. He sat up to see Dean in a similar predicament on the other side of the Trickster. He was smiling that condescending smile again as he approached the skeleton and child.

“Oh, I see. You’re Sans, aren’t you? I’m a huge fan. You actually inspired me to get into comedy.” The Trickster said, and Sam was starting to think the skeleton, Sans, was incapable of frowning, because he grinned on, but the lights of his eye sockets looked like they wanted to scowl instead.

“that’s funny, seeing as i don’t find you very _humerus_ ,” Sans said, his tone biting.

The Trickster laughed again, just as harsh as before. “I don’t mean your routine, Sans, God no. I mean what happened to you. In the Underground.”

Sans stiffened, the lights of his eyes disappearing, leaving his sockets black and all the more dangerous looking. Sam thought about what the Trickster could mean by that. He recalled the news of monsters emerging from Mount Ebott, settling at the foot of the mountain. Given the international press it was receiving, few hunters wanted to touch the place for fear of the kind of publicity they might get. But what could have possibly happened Underground to make the Trickster say that? It had to have been a peaceful place for monsters to settle aboveground like regular people might. The child beside Sans backed a few steps away.

“heh. you don’t know a thing about what happened to me.”

“Oh, but I do. I know every detail about every reset. Even the bad ones. Every time you had to watch Papyrus cut down all because you were too weak to stop a _child-_ ”

“i made someone a promise,” Sans choked out. His hands were still in his pockets but even through the fabric Sam could see they were shaking. The way the Trickster had said the name, on top of how Sans reacted to Sam’s situation, Sam could only conclude that Papyrus was a relative, and most likely a brother, at that. Sam was torn. He felt sympathy for what Sans went through, but also anger knowing it was exactly that which had inspired the Trickster to do the same to him. He felt plain disgust at himself for even having that thought, though it didn’t change the fact that the emotion was there.

“Always making excuses, Sans,” The Trickster said. They were almost nose to nose ridge now, or would be if the skeleton weren’t so short. “Why don’t you just admit that you were too _weak_ and _lazy_ to do anything about it? We both know that between the two of you, Papyrus is the strong one. Why even bother trying to avenge him, right? If he couldn’t win, you didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Sans didn’t respond. The Tricksters cocksure smile grew in triumph, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean scramble to his feet. He patted the ground blindly until his fingers curled around the stake and followed suit. When they were both on their feet, Sans finally spoke.

“yeah. you got me. knowing that no matter what i do… it’ll just be reset? makes it hard to give it my all.” The skeleton said, eye sockets closed. “really made it hard to give it my all this time too. but frisk was insistent. weren’t ya, frisk?”

Dean, who had been creeping up behind the Trickster paused to look at the child, who was standing a few feet back from Sans now. They blinked in shock at being addressed. A look of guilt flashed across their face, and they averted their gaze back to the ground. Sans continued, never looking back at Frisk to confirm that they had heard him, or that they were even still present. “and you’re right, paps is stronger. he’s the strongest guy i know. but me?”

The tension in the air was palpable as the skeleton paused. The Trickster tensed, unsure what to expect, and both hunters did as well. Frisk hadn’t moved since Sans spoke directly to them, but the look on their face suggested they knew what was coming.

Suddenly, Sans opened his eye sockets, his left eye blazing brilliant cyan and yellow hues that licked the edges of his socket and mixed into bright, coppery green. There was an audible pinging sound. In the next moment the skeleton was pulling his hand free from his pocket, throwing it into the air, and the Trickster was sent flying back into the fence, Dean barely having time to leap out of the way.

“i still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Sam wasn’t sure what he was expecting from monsterkind, but that was not very high on the list of possibilities. The Trickster struggled against an unknown force that pinned him to the fence, iron arrowheads impaled into his back, and as he did Sans’s eye flashed. There was a soft rumbling, followed by the pavement cracking, splitting apart as a row of bones emerged, headed straight for the Trickster. If Sans was the weak one, he’d hate to see how strong this Papyrus was. The Trickster was left a bloody, gory mess from the bones that crushed him further against the fence, and as the last of them disappeared in a cloud of blue sparks, Sam rushed forward, ready to plunge the stake into the Trickster’s chest and put a stop to him for good, but in the next moment he was blinking awake in bed as _Heat of the Moment_ filtered through the speakers of the alarm clock once more.

He jolted upright, startling Dean out of his usual Tuesday morning routine, and threw his covers aside. “We need to go, now.”

Sam did his best to catch Dean up on the situation as he dressed and threw his sparse belongings into his duffle. With Sans’s intervention this might be his last chance to stop the Trickster for good, and as grateful as he would feel if he was free from this time loop, he couldn’t let the Trickster go unpunished. The brothers were packed and stakes retrieved in record time, leaving them to head out to the diner once more, hoping the Trickster might still be there. Dean stiffened beside him as they arrived, but Sam was unsurprised to see a stocky skeleton leaning against the building casually, hands in pockets and child beside him, the same worry from before still on their face.

“your little friend didn’t show today,” Sans said, opening one eye socket to look at the brothers. Dean wrinkled his nose in undisguised revulsion. Sam put a hand on his arm, holding him back from whatever it was he was thinking about doing to the monster before them.

“that expression…” Sans commented, staring directly at Dean with an unreadable grin. “that’s the expression of someone completely out of the loop. didn’t sam tell you i’d be here?”

“I… didn’t know what to say,” Sam admitted, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back. How did you even get here in the first place?”

“i know a shortcut,” Sans said simply, and stuck a bony hand out to the brothers. “name’s sans. sans the skeleton. and that there is frisk.”

Dean grimaced at the offered hand and made no effort to take it, still suspicious of the skeleton, so Sam stepped forward instead. As soon as the skeleton’s hand was in his grasp he realized his mistake. A loud fart ripped through the air, and the brothers froze in place. Sans’s grin grew wider, but Frisk’s face in turn fell into a scowl. The child put on hand on their hip and use the other to whack Sans in the shoulder, giving him a pointed glare that he just shrugged at. “heh, sorry kid. couldn’t resist. thought the mood could use a little lightening. that joke just never gets old.”

The prank made Sam feel a tinge of pain, reminded all too much of the Trickster, but Sans was on their side. As far as being the butt of a joke goes, it was as harmless as the prank wars Sam and Dean used to find themselves in years ago. He gave a shaky smile to the odd pair, and beside him could see Dean had perked up a bit as well.

“Dean,” he grunted out, trying to hide his slight amusement with the skeleton. Sam would’ve been grateful he was out of murder mode if not for the circumstances of their meeting. “And this is my brother, Sam.”

“good to meet you. so what’d you two do to piss a trickster off, anyway?” Sans asked, and Sam shifted uncomfortably at the question.

“We killed him. At least we thought we did. It’s just coincidence that we’re both here now. We didn’t know when we picked this gig up that he’d be the one behind it.” Sam paused here, then asked, “How do you know about the loop when nobody else does?”

Sans glanced at his companion, a silent conversation passing between them before he turned back to the brothers. “we’ve got some experience with resets. what do you mean by gig? you regularly go looking for trouble with tricksters?”

“Tricksters, werewolves, vampires. You name it, we kill it,” Dean said, giving Sans a pointed look. Sans put his hands up, chuckling darkly at the thinly veiled threat.

“hey, i don’t like this trickster fella any more than you do. no need to go putting me in the same category as him.”

There was the pained look on the child’s face again, and Sam was quick to change the subject, for their sake. “You said you have experience with resets. Experience how?”

“personal experience,” Sans answered cryptically. “why don’t we focus on the issue at hand: catching that trickster. i’ve had about enough of tuesday.”

Sam huffed a laugh and said, “You and me both.”

“You’re all still here?”

The four turned to the newcomer, the Trickster they were in search of. He cocked a brow at them, incredulousness written all over his face. “Did you really think I’d still come here after the last time?”

“uh, hate to break it to you, buddy,” Sans said, his tone taking on the same incredulousness, “but we were right.”

The Trickster rolled his eyes in response. “I couldn’t resist seeing if you knuckleheads would be dumb enough to check for me in the same diner I’ve been at hundreds of times before you finally managed to figure out what was going on. Did you think you’d find me eating breakfast in there like nothing changed-”

Before the Trickster could monologue further there was a pinging sound, and Sans’s eye was lit ablaze like before. The god was dragged forward by that unseen force again, then thrown hard against the ground. “a hundred and forty-three times, actually. but who’s keeping track?”

Sam and Dean both had their stakes at the ready, but the Trickster had enough mobility to fling the group away himself. Sam skidded across the pavement painfully, and beside him Frisk’s head made contact with the ground. Dean landed a ways from them, with Sans on top of him. His brother didn’t hesitate to shove the skeleton off.

“That’s a cute trick you got there, Sans, but it’s hardly unique,” The Trickster said, and Sam turned to see he was already to his feet, albeit struggling against the force that threw him to the ground in the first place. The skeleton, who was now sitting up, just shrugged in response.

“For someone who always gives up, you sure don’t know when to quit.” The Trickster took a few steps closer, and Sam was quickly to stand, Dean following suit. Frisk moved closer to Sans, glaring at the Trickster as he approached. “I’m not surprised you’d find yourself in the company of Winchesters. I’d watch my back if I were you. They have a way of getting their allies killed.”

Sans’s eye sockets narrowed at the Trickster, and Frisk continued to glare. Sam wondered if they were considering what the Trickster had to say seriously, or if they would see through the distraction it was. He tried to ignore the part of himself telling him it was true. That wasn’t important right now. The Trickster’s attention seemed focused on the monster on the ground in front of him, and Sam saw his opportunity. He crept forward, just out of the trickster’s sightline, holding his stake at the ready, listening to Sans’s response.

“yeah? they’re in good company then.”

The Trickster laughed, and Sam stepped closer. “That’s right. You and Frisk have a rocky relationship yourself, don’t you?”

“rock climbing’s a great team building exercise, i hear. not real big on exercise though.”

Sam took another step. “Oh, don’t try and deflect, Sans.”

“what makes you think i’m deflecting?”

Another step. “What else do you call an answer like that?”

“i’d call it a distraction.”

Sam was right on top of the Trickster now, and as the god turned to see what Sans was talking about, Sam plunged the stake deep into his chest.

“now how’s about you leave these poor kids alone and let us all get back to our lives, capiche?”

“There’s a lesson in all of this, Sans,” The Trickster said, staring Sam right in the eyes. “It was meant to be Sam’s, but maybe you could learn something from it too.”

The next thing Sam knew he was waking up in his bed at the motel, _Back in Time_ playing on the radio.

 

\---------

 

Sans blinked and found himself back in his bed at home. Another reset. If working on his equipment tired him out, this was even worse. How long could they keep this routine up? It was only a matter of time before he ran out of surprises for the Trickster, assuming he even showed this time. Was there even a point in trying this time?

His phone rang on his bedside table and he groaned. It hadn’t even been a full five minutes, and Frisk was already calling? He supposed they must be impatient to get back to it. The way the Trickster came after them specifically must have rattle them like it had him. On the fourth ring he finally reached over and dragged his phone off the table, answering it. “yeah?”

“Sans. It’s Wednesday.”

He blinked again and pulled his phone away from his skull to check the screen. Wednesday. Not Tuesday. If he hadn’t already been grinning, he certainly would be now. From downstairs he heard Papyrus calling him. “heh. we gotta celebrate. you got any breakfast plans?”

Frisk told him no, and he took a shortcut out of his bedroom door to theirs, then from their bedroom door to his front door, opening it to Papyrus shouting upstairs for him to get his lazy tailbone out of bed.

“hey paps. you make breakfast yet?”

“WELL BROTHER, I _WAS_ PLANNING ON IT, THOUGH I HAVEN’T STARTED JUST YET. QUITE FORTUITOUS SINCE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME FRISK WOULD BE JOINING US. WHY DO YOU ASK?”

“i was thinking we could do something different. nice cream for breakfast. to celebrate.”

“AND WHAT WOULD WE BE CELEBRATING?”

“wednesday, obviously.”

“I SUPPOSE I CAN’T ARGUE WITH THAT LOGIC.”

The three walked to the corner where the nice cream guy was set up for the morning, Papyrus taking the lead and allowing Frisk and Sans to talk.

“you think we’ll be seeing anymore of those guys?”

“Maybe. I don’t think Dean liked you.”

Sans smiled ruefully. “yeah, i got that feeling. wonder why we haven’t heard of these hunters before now. you’d think they’d be all over us.”

Frisk shrugged. “Before I fell, I didn’t think vampires and werewolves and trickster gods were real. Maybe they just want to be a secret.”

“probably be real hard to keep one if they’re out killing a whole population of naturalized citizens.”

“Yeah.”

They reached the nice cream stand then, and discussion shifted to their tasty, if unhealthy, breakfast, and their favorite parts about Wednesday. Papyrus was just as suspicious of Sans’s motives as he predicted, but he didn’t care. He was glad to see his brother in one piece, and the lingering memories of distance timelines were pushed to the back of his mind so he could enjoy his company. Papyrus didn’t mind Frisk’s fawning the way he did Sans, but Sans understood the gesture for what it was; apology, a cry for redemption. And despite the fresh wound the Trickster’s actions left, he thought he might be ready to give it to them.

 

\---------

 

“I remember the Trickster attacking, and I remember that weird ass skeleton. And then,” Dean shrugged, at a loss. “waking up here.”

“And nothing else?” Sam asked.

“Nothing else.” Dean confirmed.

“Weird,” Sam said. “Me too.”

The two sat to the table in their motel room, empty breakfast sandwich wrappers and coffee cups on the surface between them. The rest of their possessions had already been packed the day before, but Sam was reluctant to pick up and go so quickly. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. One hundred and forty-three resets? It hurt thinking about why Sans would the precise number. It also hurt knowing exactly how long he’d been trapped in this loop. Knowing exactly how many times he’d watched his brother die. He wondered if Sans felt the same way he had after he’d finally been released from his loop. Supposed he must have with all the Trickster’s talk of giving up.

“Surprised to see a monster in person,” Dean said after a moment, vague distrust tinging his voice. “Didn’t think they’d be leaving their little settlement so soon. Or be so far away. How’d they even get here, anyway?”

“Shortcut?” Sam supplied unhelpfully. “Hell if I know. There’s a lot we don’t know about the monsters from the underground. They’re a whole new ballgame.”

“Didn’t Bobby check them out after they first came to the surface?” Dean asked, taking a sip from the gritty liquid that remained in his cup.

“Yeah. Maybe we should see what he knows,” Sam took a sip of his own, grimacing at the texture. “What do you think Sans meant when he said they had experience with resets?”

“You think a Trickster messed with them before?”

“Maybe another monster.”

“What about that kid with him?” Dean suggested, and Sam quirked a skeptical brow at him. “What? The skeleton kept talking like he was speaking for them both. Maybe the kid knows something. Maybe the kid’s the one behind it!”

As crazy as it sounded… it also sounded plausible. Frisk _was_ strange. Sam hadn’t heard a word out of them the entire time they were together. Sans really did do all the talking, and what other reason would Frisk have for being present in the confrontation? They were a child, probably no older than ten. And didn’t the Trickster say something about a child being involved in the resets?

Sam finished off the dregs of his coffee, setting the empty cup down beside his sandwich wrapper. “We should get out of here.” He said.


End file.
